


a new light

by stammiviktor



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Post-Canon, quiet intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 18:37:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21378703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stammiviktor/pseuds/stammiviktor
Summary: The sun rises on St. Petersburg.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 34
Kudos: 357





	a new light

**Author's Note:**

> please know that I had to physically restrain myself from titling this with a hozier lyric
> 
> This fic was inspired by a gorgeous piece of art by the absolutely amazing [sheepskeleton-art](https://sheepskeleton-art.tumblr.com/) \- check it out [here](https://sheepskeleton-art.tumblr.com/post/186095653431/a-quiet-morning)!

The winter sun in St. Petersburg rises so late and sets so early that it might as well not rise at all. For Viktor and Yuuri, who spend most of their time in the refrigerated air of an ice rink, this isn’t the worst thing in the world—Sports Champions Complex has giant windows that let in the midday sunlight, and they’re already accustomed to waking before dawn for practice. They wake up to a room that looks the exact same as when they fell asleep: swathed in darkness with a slight orange-haze glow coming from the windows, and Makkachin asleep at their feet. Yuuri always squints away from the bright phone light as he fumbles for the snooze button. Every morning, Viktor’s alarm goes off at 6:00 and he presses snooze once before getting up and heading to shower. Yuuri’s first alarm goes off at 6:15, then 6:20, then 6:25, then 6:30, then 6:32 just in case.

Even on the weekends, when they sleep in until 8 a.m. (Viktor) or 9 a.m. (Yuuri) or later (Yuuri), they awake in darkness. It was strange for Yuuri for the first few weeks, but he got used to it quickly, just like he got used to the other oddities of his new home here with Viktor—the lack of spice in Russian food, the serious expression on so many faces, the language he doesn’t think he’ll ever get a handle on. But there are so many wonderful things, too, like the little pastries at the shop down the street, the hundreds of bridges, the seagulls, and the way Viktor seems so perfectly at ease in this city that raised him. His— _ their— _ apartment is light and airy and so warm to come home to. The sheets are softer than anything Yuuri has touched in his life (that wasn’t Viktor’s skin); the way it feels to slip between them with Viktor in his arms is beyond compare. 

This life with Viktor feels simultaneously absolutely foreign and completely familiar. Yuuri remembers thinking that same thing about Viktor’s touch, months ago in a hotel room in Beijing, the first time they dared to truly let their hands wander. Russia in the winter is bitterly, indescribably cold, and yet those first months are full to bursting with the delightful warmth of discovery. 

January and February pass, putting Four Continents and Europeans behind them, and suddenly it’s March. Worlds looms large at the end of the month and there’s a checklist from both of their coaches of elements to refine before then. At this point in the season, they’re both in the best shape of their lives. Every mark Viktor makes on the ice is ten times more inspired than anything Yuuri has ever seen him produce before then, with more feeling behind it than even  _ Stammi Vicino.  _ “It’s because of you, Yuuuuri,” Viktor purrs in his ear when Yuuri points that out. 

And so it happens in March, the event in question. Something so mundane and seemingly insignificant that it hardly deserves to be called an  _ event, _ but that’s the way Yuuri will remember it for the rest of his life. Late winter 2017, a Saturday morning in March, when Yuuri rolled over in the morning to find Viktor bathed in sunlight. 

Yuuri had not previously given the windows above the headboard a second thought, but this morning he realizes that they face East toward the rising sun, allowing pale morning light to reach out and brush Viktor’s skin. Yuuri breathes in a tiny gasp, warmth spreading across his cheeks as he blinks sleep from his eyes and takes in the sight of Viktor Nikiforov curled up next to him, tangled up in navy blue, thousand-thread-count sheets. The peace of the moment is something tangible, something Yuuri feels within him and around him, not fragile in the slightest. It is something not easily broken. An enduring, all-encompassing peace. 

The sunlight plays in Viktor’s silver hair and leaves shining white in its path, wanders over his jawline, down the stark line of his neck. It floods the hollow of his collarbone and Yuuri feels like he might cry; he knows no other way to express the swell of emotions building in his throat and his lungs. 

Viktor breathes softly through his mouth, in and out, his shoulder moving up and down as his chest rises and falls. Yuuri watches, entranced. He doesn’t know why he woke up first—it’s not normal, but Viktor has been working himself so hard in practice lately that he deserves to sleep in. He wants so badly to reach out, to touch, to join, but that feels greedy, somehow. Dangerous, even. The sight of Viktor swathed in sunlight in  _ their  _ bed in _ their  _ apartment is already so much more than Yuuri can even hope to process. But to touch him? To hold him? To feel the warmth of his skin, the movement of his body against Yuuri’s, the little puffs of his breath against Yuuri’s throat?

It’s almost too much, just the thought of it. Yuuri has touched Viktor in much more intimate ways so many times before, but in this liminal, sunlit moment, every sensation and emotion feels heightened. 

Yuuri basks in it. Floats in it. Drowns in it. 

After some time, Viktor stirs. 

“Yuuri?” he mutters, flashes of blue visible behind his eyelashes as he blinks, adjusting to the light. 

“Good morning,” Yuuri breathes.

“S’light out,” Viktor mutters, a little smile playing on his lips. 

“It is.”

“You’re  _ beautiful.” _

Yuuri flushes. “Ah…”

“Yuuri,” Viktor cooes, scooting sideways toward him.  _ “Yuuuuuri.”  _ He reaches out, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s waist and pulling their bodies together, Viktor’s bare chest against Yuuri’s thin t-shirt and his hand pressed flat against Yuuri’s lower back beneath it. He tucks his head against Yuuri’s shoulder and sighs, a sound of pure contentment.

Suddenly the spell is broken—that floating, dreamlike moment suspended in time that rendered Yuuri helpless in the face of such chest-crushing, untouchable beauty. Still, the moment is no less beautiful now with Viktor in his arms, with him in  _ Viktor’s _ arms, tangled up together, breathing together, giggling as Makkachin wakes up, walks on top of their legs, and sticks her cold nose right in Viktor’s face. Viktor’s silver hair tickles Yuuri’s jaw on one side, Makkachin’s fur on the other.

“What a lovely morning, isn’t it, Makkachin?” Viktor cooes. 

_ Boof! _ Makkachin replies. 

“Yes, I know, we’ll get you breakfast soon. But my Yuuri and I are so comfortable right now, you will have to be patient. Can you be patient? Yes, I think you can be patient. Come cuddle with us. We have morning breath too, it’s alright. Good girl.”

Makkachin settles in against them, her eyes bright and tongue hanging from her mouth in delight. Viktor presses a line of closed-mouth kisses up Yuuri’s throat, little tokens of admiration that he knows Yuuri loves. Yuuri sighs in delight, his fingers playing at the short strands of hair just above the nape of Viktor’s neck. Viktor’s kisses travel upward, along his jawline, toward his lips—

Makkachin, not to be left out, surges upward and licks Yuuri’s face. Viktor gasps dramatically, utterly affronted and Yuuri laughs, as bright and clear as winter morning sunlight. He makes sure to kiss Viktor then, full on the mouth, the way Viktor had clearly meant to before they were so delightfully interrupted. 

For a long time afterward, they lay there together, warm from the inside out. The days will continue to grow longer and eventually they will wake to this every morning; come summer, the sun will scarcely seem to set. Yuuri is still discovering lovely little things about this new life they’re building, and as springtime dawns and their St. Petersburg home floods with sunlight, he will discover even more. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! please let me know what you thought!


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